called. The strangers made no answer for a moment, but looked him up and down with sidelong glances. Then one replied in a language the boy did not know. But the words were plainly a question, and David, resolving to pass himself off for what he seemed, a Wachoosett, answered in the Nipmuck tongue.
“I am a Wachoosett,” he said. “Woosonametipom is my sachem. We lodge three leagues northward. We come on a friendly visit to this country. Who are you, brothers?”
The Indians seemed to understand something of what he said. Doubtless the words Wachoosett and Woosonametipom were familiar: perhaps others, since many words were similar in the different tongues. One of the two, a cruel-visaged savage with much tattooing on his body, grunted doubtfully, but the other embarked on a long speech, none of which David could fathom. But he listened gravely and respectfully, paused at one side of the path, until the man had ended. Then he replied with all the compliments and friendly phrases he could muster in Nipmuck; and wished all the time that he had at least a knife or spear. It was the cruel-
